For hours he plunged through the woods, pursued by his bitter thoughts. When he turned back at last, into the garden, he knew that a precious, new-born thing, which he had brought back with him after his exile, was laid away, never to be allowed to come into full flower and maturity.
His decision was made. He temporized on one point. He would stay on until the play was produced, so that if it succeeded, as he was determined it should, Bambi would have that much satisfaction from her matrimonial experiment. Then he would let her divorce him, and he would take himself out of her life.
She was in the library when he went in. She caught sight of his face, and exclaimed:
"Jarvis, my dear, how tired you look!"
He started to go, but she detained him.
"Is anything the matter, Jarvis?"
"No, what should be the matter?"
"I don't know, but if there is anything you want to talk out with me, let's have it now. We can't afford to have any misunderstandings between us."
"There is nothing," he said, and left the room.
That night, after dinner, he sat late in his study, writing. Two days later the result of the evening's work came to Bambi:
"DEAR AUTHOR LADY: Some days ago I sent you my new address, so that you need not send letters to the theatre, but so far I have not heard from you. To-night, for some reason, I feel moved to write to you as I would wish to talk to you were you near me.
"I say for some reason, and yet I know the reason. It is because of your human understanding of the things that make men glad or sad. I am beginning to know that only through the ache of experience can we come to understand each other. Surely there must be something of sadness back of your life, Lady of Mystery, to give you this power.
"To-day I have fought out a bitter fight with myself, and I feel the loneliness that comes in a crisis, when each man of us must stand or fall, alone.
"The play goes ahead rapidly. As I told you, Mrs. Jocelyn and I have great satisfaction in our work on it. I am determined to wring success from it. Both for your sake and for mine, I must!
"Is this personal letter distasteful to you? Do I depend too much upon your gracious understanding? If I do, say so, and I will not offend again.
"Faithfully, "JARVIS JOCELYN."
Bambi read this letter over and over again, behind the locked door of her bedroom. What did it all mean? What was the bitter fight that drove Jarvis to this other woman for solace? How far did she dare draw him out on it, without offending her own sense of fitness? Had this innocent plot of hers, to startle him into amazed admiration, led them both into a labyrinth of misunderstanding?
She answered Jarvis's letter and sent it to the theatre, asking them to forward it:
"DEAR MR. JOCELYN: Your letter touched me very much in its appeal for my sympathy and understanding. I am regretful that sorrow has found you out. I think of you always as young and strong and happy, with a young wife, and the world before you. I hate to have you spoil my picture.
"I repeat my satisfaction that you and your wife enjoy your work on 'Francesca.' I found such happiness myself in doing her, that I like to think we share the pleasure between us, we three.
"Is it your own ambition that drives you so that you say 'I must,' in regard to success? Sometimes, if we set our hearts too much on a thing, our very determination thwarts us. Is it not so? Perhaps it is for the sake of some one else that you are so eager for accomplishment. I feel that it is to come to you in this play, and I am glad.
"Be of good cheer, Comrade. Even the memory of bitter fights grows dim. I will not think of you as daunted by anything life can offer. No, nor death. Why have I this confidence in you, I wonder?
"In all friendliness, "THE LADY OF MYSTERY."
The day this letter came to Jarvis marked a change in him to Bambi's watchful eye. He threw himself with renewed ardour into the work. For the first time in many days they walked together, and he seemed more himself than he had been since Strong's unfortunate visit. Was it the effect of this letter? He was beginning to be easily influenced by this supposed stranger! The idea was too fantastic.
"What kind of a woman do you imagine the author of 'Francesca' to be?" she asked him as they trudged along a wintry road. He started a little, she thought.
"I scarcely know," he evaded. "I always think of her as tall and thin and frail, with a rather sad face, white, with humorous gray eyes, and a sensitive mouth."
"I always think of her as little and fat and cuddly."
"Oh, not cuddly!" he protested.
She laughed.
"Any news from her lately?"
"Yes. I had a letter to-day."
"Did you ask if she was coming to rehearsals?"
"Not yet."
"Haven't you any curiosity about her?"
"In a way, yes. But I respect her desire in the matter."
"I don't. If I could get it out of Richard Strong who she is, I'd go look her up in a minute."
"Have you tried?" eagerly.
"He won't tell. He's the King of Clams."
"He has no right to tell."
"It is very smart of her to work up all this mystery about herself. No doubt she is a wobbly old fatty, instead of the Beatrice you think her."
He made no answer, but she saw by his face how he resented it.
A wicked design grew in Bambi's mind. She would make Jarvis Jocelyn fall so desperately and hopelessly in love with this dream-woman of his that she would be revenged upon him for the way he had shut her out since Strong's visit. It never once occurred to her that it was a hurt she had given him which drove him to this other woman. But the something which he had offered her the night of his return he had deliberately withdrawn, before she had a chance to accept or refuse it. Well, here was a chance to punish him and she would take it.
XXIII
From the day of her resolve absolute impersonality characterized their relations during Work hours. Sometimes they walked together; sometimes Bambi went alone or made visits to her friends. Jarvis felt more and more her withdrawal from him. He attributed it to her increased affection for Strong and a consequent abhorrence of her husband's presence.
One morning she announced that she was going to New York for the day.
"But we were to work on the big climax to-day," Jarvis protested.
"You work at it. You can do it without me," she said, airily.
"You are as tired of the play as you are of me," said Jarvis earnestly.
"Absurd. I am much interested in the play and I am not tired of you."
"Shall you see Strong?"
"Yes. I shall spend part of the day with him. Did you wish to send him a message?"
"It wouldn't be fit for you to carry," he answered, fiercely.
"Richard is not your favourite companion, is he?" she tantalized.
"He is not!"
"Sorry. I am very fond of him."
"That does not need saying."
"I have never tried to disguise it."
"No, I should say you were both frank about it."
"Why shouldn't we be, Jarvis?" said Bambi with irritation.
"Exactly. Why shouldn't you be?"
"You naturally cannot expect to regulate or choose my friends."
"I expect nothing."
"Then I would be obliged to you if you made your dislike of my friend a trifle less conspicuous."
"If you will let me know when he is expected, I will always go elsewhere."
It was the first hint of disagreement that had ever occurred between them, and Bambi took the train to New York with a disagreeable taste in her mouth. She was going for a conference with Strong about the book, which had got a splendid start in the holiday sales. He had some plans to feature it in various conspicuous ways, so that it might advertise the play.
Arrived in Grand Central Station, she wired Jarvis, "Sorry was horrid about Strong," just to make her self-esteem less flat. Then she went to Strong's office. He greeted her in his cordial way, only his eyes admitting his joy at sight of her.
"It is good to see you," he said.
"You won't like me. I'm utterly detestable to-day. I was nasty to Jarvis, and cross with Ardelia."
"I can't imagine you either nasty or cross."
"Me? Oh, I scratch and spit and bite!"
"You are the most human person I ever encountered," he laughed.
"Be nice to me, and I may cheer up."
"I shall try. I have news about the sale of the book that ought to cheer a tombstone. I think we have a best-seller on our hands."
"I'm not a bit ashamed of it."
"Why should you be?"
"Aren't you a literary pariah, if you're a best-seller?"
He laughed.
"How is the play coming on?"
"Pretty well, I think. We're up to the climax of the second act. Jarvis is working on it to-day."
"Still no suspicion of you?"
"Not a grain. I think he's falling in love with the author of 'Francesca,' though."
"How?"
"Through their letters."
"You certainly have a talent for comedy," he laughed, and added, gravely, "I thought Jocelyn had always been in love with the author of 'Francesca'?"
"No-o."
"I have always known that the author of 'Francesca' cared about Jarvis."
"You must have dreamed that, Richard. Poor old Jarvis! Sometimes I think I will confess. Maybe I have no right to make game of him this way."